Only the Lonely
by miserable lie
Summary: Patsy and Trixie are both dealing with torments of their own but, at first, neither of them realise that the only way they can get better is to try to understand the other. (Set after series four)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The night times hurt the most. That's when the memories come flooding back to her. She could distract herself with work during the day but then, when she is still, with only the erratic sound of Trixie's breath in the bed next to her for comfort, she feels it. It starts as an ache in her stomach and then spreads throughout her whole body so that she burns with it. It is fortunate, she supposes, that in the months since Delia's accident she has become so skilled at crying silently. She rarely wakes Trixie anymore and when she does she tells her the truth, well, half of it, she tells her she's had a nightmare about Delia. Because that's okay. It's fine for Patsy to occasionally appear troubled by the whole affair. It's natural for her to be upset by such a close friend being torn away from her in such a vicious manner. Perfectly understandable for her to fret about Delia's welfare. Her nightly terrors would only become problematic if Trixie was aware that they were so frequent because, as far as Trixie was concerned, Patsy cared for Delia only as a friend and if she appeared too perturbed then it would raise far too many questions about the exact nature of their relationship, and that would never do, not if she wanted to keep her position.

Little did Patsy know that Trixie was all too aware that she lay in bed each night wracked with sobs and engulfed in pain, for Trixie too lay awake each night in torment. At the beginning, she had tried to comfort her but it soon became apparent that Patsy did not want to share her reasons, and this was something that Trixie understood, so she chose to accept it. She'd hardly touched alcohol in the months since she had admitted to having a drink problem, there had been the inevitable slip ups of course, when she'd come home after a particularly trying day and been unable to resist the urge to drown the demons in her head with whatever took her fancy. Still, she had not counted upon how difficult it would be to stop drinking. Had not realised how utterly dependent she had become on the stuff. It pained her to see how her own hands shook and trembled uncontrollably and even more so to know that others could see this. In the months since the night where she had called the Samaritans, Cynthia had tried on so many occasions to talk to her, to offer her counsel and spiritual guidance but she could not bring herself to accept it. It was only a month ago that Sister Julienne had placed Trixie back on the midwifery rota and, as glad as Trixie was to be free of the more tedious tasks she could not help but worry that something would go wrong. After all, something always did where she was involved.

They both rose, as usual, at 6.30am and got ready for the day in silence, each of them preoccupied with thoughts of their own and each of them aware that the other was in no position to be burdened with their troubles. It was sad to think how this room had once been filled with laughter but perhaps what was the saddest thing was that neither of them realised just how much they understood about each other. Patsy was well aware that Trixie was, for all her pretence, struggling with some deep, inner torment. It was, in Patsy's opinion, something that had been in Trixie for all her life but her increasing dependence upon alcohol and her broken engagement with Tom had brought it to the surface so it was something that had become far more difficult for her to ignore. Trixie knew Patsy's darkest secret of all, for she understood that her feelings for Delia were not strictly platonic, in fact, they were not platonic in the slightest.


	2. Chapter 2

Even though Patsy knew that Sister Julienne would always alert her if she was ever to receive some form of correspondence, this knowledge did not stop her from checking the post each time it came, then checking it again, and again, until she was forced to reconcile herself with the fact that there was no news from Wales. She had written ten times (eleven if you counted the postcard) since Delia's mother had whisked her away but she had received nothing in return, despite her mother dubiously agreeing to written communication. Her reluctance to allow them to maintain contact had worried Patsy at first for she had feared that Delia's mother was aware of what she was, of what they were, but, as time went on and Patsy had time to think more rationally, she realised that Delia's mother had never wanted her to come to London in the first place and that she saw Patsy as a symbol of the big and filthy city which had nearly killed her daughter.

Trixie pulled her mac tighter as she stumbled back up the steps to Nonnatus through the heavy downpour, with her head bent low, she realised only too late that she was about to crash into Tom Hereward. After they had both regained their balance and made their stilted apologies there was an awkward silence. In the time since they had called off the engagement, Trixie had done all in her power to avoid the Reverend, something which was made slightly easier by the fact that she had never been a church goer in the first place, but had, nonetheless, required some skilful manoeuvres. She slipped past him, through the door and up the stairs to her room, thankful that he had not caught a glimpse of the brown paper bag tucked underneath her arm, the side of which had split a little during the collision to reveal the label of something clearly alcoholic. Or perhaps he had noticed and had simply been too polite to mention anything, to her at least, for all she knew he was downstairs right now telling Sister Julienne that Trixie had slipped up again.

The inane chatter had become something of a comfort to Patsy as she haunted the café which she, along with Delia, had frequented. It was comforting to her how similar it was to before the accident and the only real change was that she came alone now. In fact, it wouldn't come as a surprise if she were to discover that the lads in the corner were the same ones who had so often made attempts to woo them. A faint smile crossed her lips as she raised her tea cup to her lips and remembered Delia's various rebuffs. They had often joked about how those same men would react if they were to ever discover that they were lovers, well, Delia had joked and Patsy had joined in, although often only half-heartedly for she was far more fearful than Delia of the possibility of ever being caught out. Her fear, she supposed, had been the greatest barrier their relationship ever faced.

Trixie caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror and stopped what she was doing. Her cheekbones had become increasingly prominent and she looked thin and sickly for she had lost her appetite of late. Her eyes revealed how tired she was, so much so that not even her trusty mascara had been able to salvage them. Trixie had always prided herself upon her appearance but, in recent months, her interest had waned somewhat as she became consumed with a persistent anxiety which gnawed away at her and which she could not escape. She took several steps towards to mirror until she was nose to nose with her own reflection. She saw a tear brim at her waterline and then felt the heat of it as it slid down her cheek, followed by another, and another. There was no point in wiping them away, for there was no one here to see her crumble. Her fingers fumbled around as she held her own gaze until they came into contact with the brown paper bag from earlier. She withdrew the glass bottle and, with unsteady fingers, removed the cap. Then, steeling her resolve tipped her head back and poured the burning liquid down her throat.

Patsy had left the café now and was headed back to the convent, accompanied only by her thoughts and desires. When she reached Nonnatus she hurried to her room for fear of being stopped by a well-meaning but unwanted inhabitant, now was not the time to join Sister Monica Joan in seeking out some cake nor to defend Barbara when Sister Evangelina leapt at her throat for some minor mistake. She hoped Trixie would be asleep or, even better, out. The reality hit her when she entered the room and saw Trixie propped up against the table where they had once piled their various alcoholic beverages, sobbing and as her eyes moved slightly to the left, it came as no surprise for her to see a near empty bottle half clasped in her friend's hand.

"Oh, Trixie" Patsy was by her side in an instant, but not before shutting the door for she could not stand the thought that someone else might bear witness to this horrible scene unfolding. This was the worst she had seen Trixie (although she knew it was not the first time Trixie had found herself in such a state) and it frightened her, but she was used to dealing with fear in these situations so she allowed her training to take over. She lifted her onto the bed and felt a pang of sorrow as it dawned upon her how much weight Trixie must have lost, yet it was no surprise given that she hadn't seen Trixie at breakfast or lunch in weeks and she hardly touched her tea anymore. She placed her on her own bed for that was the closest to them and propped her up on the pillows. Trixie mumbled and tried to lie down but Patsy firmly told her that she had to stay sitting in case she threw up. Still Trixie resisted, trying to get up now but Patsy, by far the stronger of the two, held her down until Trixie crumpled into her arms.

She drew herself up onto the bed besides Trixie and pulled the nurse's head into her chest, stroking her hair and making shushing sounds. Neither of them said anything for a while, they simply sat there, Trixie's sobs slowly subsiding as Patsy rubbed her hand in circles on her back. Patsy knew that she ought to ask what was wrong, ought to ask if there was anything she could do to help but she could not bring herself to pry.

"It was nothing, just a blip" Trixie was the first to break the silence. Patsy wished she could believe her, wished she couldn't hear just how slurred her words were, wished she could not see past the fake smile plastered across Trixie's face into her torment ridden eyes. Patsy forced herself to believe Trixie, because they were both so good at lying and pretending. She helped Trixie over to her own bed and told her she had to go and check the rota. They both know that it wasn't true and that Patsy was only going because she could not stand to see Trixie like this, lying in bed, still in her uniform, make up smudged with her tears.

"Try and get some rest Trixie. I'll see you in the morning" she turned to go but Trixie's next words made her freeze in her tracks, slurred and incoherent as they were.

"You deserve Delia, Patsy".


	3. Chapter 3

Patsy woke early that morning and looked over to Trixie who had not stirred since the events of last night. In some ways she was relieved. It was nice to no longer have to mull over whether her friend would guess her secret. Mostly though, she was scared but Patsy had known fear before and was worryingly skilled at concealing it. She dressed as quietly as possible, she knew she would have to face Trixie at some point but she wanted to delay it for as long as possible.

Trixie was a few minutes late to their usual briefing from Sister Evangelina, earning herself a disapproving glare and a lecture about timekeeping that neither Trixie nor Barbara were stranger to. Trixie then took her place next to Patsy but did not look her in the eye, indicating she did remember at least some of the night before.

All through her rounds Patsy was unable to keep Trixie's parting words out of her mind, even when she was dressing a particularly nasty sore on old Mr Abram's leg. She had never been found out before although there had been some pretty close scrapes and, when she mused upon it, she realised that Trixie had been involved in a number of these occasions. Patsy wondered whether this meant Trixie knew more than she let on and, if this was the case, did it mean she approved of their relationship? Certainly last night it had sounded that way, there had been no disgust or fear in Trixie's voice, only compassion and perhaps a slight hint of loneliness.

Trixie, cycling around Poplar and still reeling a little from the events of the night before, remembers exactly what she said to Patsy. She does not regret it as such, for she would love to be able to openly discuss their relationship, just as she and Patsy had when her and Tom had been together. Her main concern is the anxiety that this must be causing Patsy but, what with Patsy's bed being empty when she awoke and with her being slightly late herself, she had not had the opportunity to put the other nurse out of her misery. She resolved that tonight they would talk and she would reassure Patsy in any way that she could. She considered telling her the story about Dorothy, a nurse she had known in training, and how she had managed to maintain a relationship with another woman, with Trixie occasionally going out with the two of them, to ensure they did not rouse suspicion. Still, it seemed to Trixie inherently wrong that anyone should ever have to be ashamed of the person they love and she pondered whether it would ever be enough for the two of them to live as "just friends" until the day the world (hopefully) realised their ignorance.

That night, when Patsy returned from a particularly exhausting delivery, she returned to their shared room and was not surprised to see Trixie sat on her own bed smoking a cigarette and with a cup of coffee in her hand. Patsy was relieved to note the gentle smile on her friend's lips and sat down opposite her, lighting a cigarette of her own as she did so. Trixie was the first to break the silence.

"Could we talk about last night Patsy" and, before Patsy had a chance to respond, she rushed ahead, "I know. About you and Delia I mean, well, I suppose you gathered that from my performance last night." She pauses to smile remorsefully. "And I just wanted you to know that I'm happy for you, well not happy because obviously Delia is… well what I mean to say is I think that you should do what you want, be who you want, without fear, and I hope you know that you can always talk to me about it. If you want to that is."

Patsy isn't quite sure what to say, so she does something rather out of character and moves over to Trixie's bed to hug her. They stay like that for a while, cigarettes slowly smouldering away and Trixie's cup lodged, somewhat uncomfortably, between their chests. They break free at pretty much the same time and Patsy notes the tears in Trixie's eyes before she feels the hot pricks in her own. Then, before Trixie can ask, Patsy begins to pour out the story of her and Delia; how they met, what she means to her, her own misgivings and finally, whether or not she will ever learn to live with this nothingness, this complete lack of Delia. Trixie listens and does not interrupt once.


End file.
